


Dis Manibus

by micehell



Series: Dis Manibus [1]
Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: AU (Haunted fusion), M/M, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Violence towards children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-03
Updated: 2008-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Deegan who'd been there when Curt woke up in the hospital and realized that he hadn't come back quite the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dis Manibus

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion with the Matthew Fox show _Haunted_ , but it's mostly the outline of that show that's used rather than anything internal (iow, the fact that Curt died and got resuscitated and was then able to see ghosts, plus the fact that some of the ghosts could interact with him on a somewhat physical level, that kind of thing). Oddly enough, though, it will still sort of follow the plot of the movie (VG). 
> 
> There are some canon characters in this besides Curt and Arthur, but mostly as side characters, though... er, one of them doesn't have a good fate. There are two original characters as well, but while they do have a fairly noticeable part in the story, they're not the primary focus, so unless you're just utterly offended by OCs, you should be fine. ;)

1\. Curt looked around the bar, noting how run down it was, brass and varnish that had once shone covered over by years of smoke and use. _Not unlike me, really_ , he thought. They were both getting up there now, forty looming closer for Curt than he'd ever thought he'd come, at least in his wild youth.

He'd played this bar in that youth -- seventeen and lying about it to get in, the heroin keeping him strung out and too thin, taking all his resources, financial and physical both. But Curt didn't usually indulge in sentimentality, and he wasn't here for old times' sake. At least not his own.

Mandy sat across from him, smiling hesitantly, nervous even now that it didn't matter anymore. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Curt nodded, understanding. He'd always hated being seen as a victim, too. It was why he'd done nothing to stop the rumors that had always surrounded him; the light they painted him in -- slut, whore, loser -- better than the reality he'd lived. How much worse would it be when you knew that there wasn't, couldn't be, any kind of happy ending? "If you don't talk to me, who are you going to talk to?"

Her laugh was pretty, not that fake trill he'd always hated, but deep in her throat, truly amused. "There is that, isn't there?" She paused, thinking it over. "But what happens afterward? When you find him. What happens to me when it's over?"

And what did he say to her? He didn't know what happened next. Some of the ones like her that he'd met over the years believed that something good was waiting for them, and he hoped for their sakes that it was true, but Curt had stopped believing in a benevolent God long ago. But this wasn't about his fucked up beliefs, nor even the truth. She was looking for comfort, for something good in all the shit that had happened to her, and Curt wasn't going to deny her that. "Then you'll be able to rest, finally. To be at peace."

There was a moment of doubt in her eyes, and he could almost see her willing herself to believe. She nodded finally, reaching across the table to take his hand. Hers was cold, and it burned, but Curt let her hold on, the contact a comfort to him, too, even if it hurt. 

Mandy started slowly, her eyes firmly fixed on the table, her voice almost monotone. "I was here at the bar. I'd been playing here for a while, but I'd always avoided the people. Too much hassle, too many drunks. You know how it is. But I was so… lonely, and I just wanted a little… just to talk, to be outside my own head for a while. I'd wasted so much of my life just regretting things… I was tired. I just wanted a friendly person to talk to."

Curt wished she'd called him. But then, if she'd been regretting things, he'd probably part been part of it, so it wasn't a surprise that she hadn't. He kept his own regret to himself. There was no going back now for either of them, and the past that mattered right now was only a year ago, when her regrets had led her to talk to the wrong person.

She had paused again, struggling with the memories, and Curt took over for her, all too familiar with what happened next. "He seemed charming at first, right? Laughed at your jokes, bought you a drink. And you even thought to yourself that maybe he wasn't wasting his time, maybe he would get lucky. Because you were lonely, and it was nice not to be alone."

She shuddered, gripped his hand harder, and Curt bit back a cry as the cold intensified, stabbing into the bones of his hand. She still wouldn't look at him, but he could see the tears gathering in her eyes. He wondered for a moment how she was able to form them, but he shook off the idle curiosity. It wasn't like his whole life wasn't weird enough now without getting caught up in the details. 

Curt kept going when she didn't answer, because this was still a part that he could guess. "But then he came on too strong. Started to make you nervous. The magic of the moment was gone, and you just wanted to be, too. So you made an excuse: an appointment, your dog was waiting, your husband was expecting you home-"

"He wouldn't have believed the husband thing. He knew… about Brian. But maybe if I'd said a boyfriend, maybe… he wouldn't have followed me then. I should have done something smarter, anyway. But I just… I just told him I needed to go to the bathroom. I planned to wait him out, just stay in there until he left."

"But he didn't. He came after you instead."

Mandy looked up then, met his eyes. "Yes. He… I wanted to scream, but he… he had his hand over my mouth, and a knife on my throat and I… I…"

It was Curt who couldn't continue then, his own memories too close for a moment. He gripped her hand tighter, the pain a welcome distraction.

"He raped me."

It was a bald statement, short and simple. But there was so much in it, and Curt admired her for the ability to say it. It took strength, something she might not realize through the pain and fear, and Curt was glad the bastard hadn't been able to steal that from her along with everything else.

Her tears had stopped now, as if that were the hurdle that she'd been trying to get over, and Curt wondered at that. He'd always heard it called a fate worse than death, but he'd never believed it. Maybe for her it was. 

Or maybe it was just that there was more anger in her eyes now than hurt, and Curt guessed that it might be the need for justice, for closure, that was driving her now. "He kept telling me that if I didn't fight he wouldn't hurt me." She laughed, but it was bitter, nothing of amusement in it. "Like what he was doing didn't hurt."

Her hands were both on his now, her fingers kneading his hand restlessly, like they couldn't decide whether to curl into fists or not, and Curt had to dig his other hand into his leg not to hiss with the pain. He almost told her to stop, almost pulled out of her grasp, but she was close to being finished, and who knew what would happen later. He could give her this.

"I kept thinking that all I had to do was get through it. That I just had to wait, and it would all be over. But even while he was… he was… it hurt. It hurt even worse than the rape, the blade going in so deep. And he kept stabbing me even while he came, like he was raping me with it, too."

Mandy finally let go of his hand, rubbing both of hers over her face as if she was trying to scrub away the memory. She still had them over her mouth and neck when she noticed the state his hand was in, and the gesture turned to one of horror at the deep red marks covering it, incipient bruising and the damage the cold had left behind darkly noticeable against his pale skin. "Did I do that to you? Curt, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

He cut her off, hiding the hand under the table. "Mandy, Mandy, it's okay. I don't mind. I wanted the contact, too."

She nodded, hands reflexively reaching towards him again only to jerk back abruptly. "What happens now?"

"We still need to get the guy."

"There won't be any evidence by now. Nothing you can convict him with. He's probably still doing it, too, but I wouldn't know about it. I can't leave here anymore."

Curt just nodded. It happened that way sometimes, when something bad happened unexpectedly, and they became so caught up in it, that they were stuck there until someone managed to set them free. Until he managed to set them free, anyway. But it wouldn't matter if they had no proof of what the guy had done to Mandy, because Deegan and his asshole partner would take care of it anyway. And while sometimes he might hate the liberties they took with people's lives, especially his, he couldn't say he'd be too upset if they wound up killing this freak. They still needed to know who it was, though. "Did you know his name?"

Mandy shook her head. "He called himself Jack, but that was probably a lie." She sighed, sounding infinitely weary. She hugged her arms around herself, and for a moment Curt could see her as she'd looked after the attack, the blood covering the gold she still favored. Her eyes went to the bar, where a man was chatting up a woman, and Mandy shuddered, blood seeping out of her mouth when she said, "It doesn't matter, anyway, he's here right now."

Curt looked at the man. He could understand Mandy talking to him in the first place; smooth like polished wood, clothes rich and tailored, but not overdone, a handsome face and a charming smile. The woman he was talking to now was definitely flirting back, giggling at something he said, making her availability known in the way she held her shoulders back to emphasize her breasts, in the way she angled her hips, in the swipe of her tongue on the straw in her drink. She didn't know what she was flirting with, anymore than Mandy had. Anymore than Curt had when he'd walked past the guy on his way in. 

The woman at the bar giggled again, and Curt had a sudden vision of her face, laughter washed away in horror and blood as she found out that sex wasn't what the man really wanted from her. He shook it off, not wanting the distraction. He hadn't been allowed to keep that expression off of Mandy's face before she died, but this woman would never have to know it.

Everything happened quickly after that. He told Mandy to wait at the table for him, while he called Deegan and the Asshole, keeping his eye on the man all the while. They showed up within five minutes, flashing badges and handling the situation with their usual prompt brutality, ignoring the guy's loud demands to know what was going on. 

Deegan left him in his partner's care for a moment, coming over to Curt to ask, "You're sure this is the one?"

Curt nodded, pointing over at Mandy, who'd thankfully reverted back to her living appearance, though her wide eyes were still fixed on her killer. "Yeah, she IDed him."

Deegan couldn't help but look, even though they both knew he wouldn't see anything. "She's sure, though, right? I mean, what he did to her… it was pretty brutal. Maybe it clouded her memories a little. I don't want to make any mistakes here, just in case."

He didn't say just in case what, but Curt already knew. They'd try to do it the right way first, even the Asshole was good about that. Investigation, research, whatever it took. Their Chief and a couple of people in the DA's office knew about Curt, what he could do, so Deegan would have the time and resources without question. They'd have protection, too, to follow through should the investigation not pan out.

Curt was more than happy to verify that Mandy was sure. He wasn't comfortable with the just in case part of things, but the only ghost he'd ever come across that could lie to him was Shannon, and she could only do it by omission.

Mandy just said, "That's him." Simple and bleak, and more than enough for Curt. Enough for Deegan, too, and he left, partner and prisoner in tow. 

The bar was buzzing after the excitement, but Curt could still easily hear Mandy when she whispered, "It's over."

Curt was the one to reach out this time, wanting to do something more for her, rather than to just catch her killer, but there was no contact, his hand passing through her, her eyes already on something that he couldn't see. She got up, walking away without a word, but she turned back for a moment, eyes still distant, but her smile real. She blew a kiss at him, winking, before she turned away and faded.

He watched the empty space she'd left behind for a while, letting himself remember the glittering façade she'd once worn as well as the woman underneath it. Then he left, finding a bar he'd never been in before, where no one knew him, and the only ghosts around were the ones he carried with him. Ten shots later, those faded, too.

Deegan banged at his door far too early the next morning, ignoring Curt's complaints with long-practiced ease. He shoved a large cup of coffee at him, and even let him drink some of it before he started. His rounded Brooklyn accent was heavier than normal, a long night and too many victims drawing it out as he said, "I got another case for you. Three little boys have gone missing over the last four months, and all of them have turned up dead less than a week later." 

His face was stony, and Curt knew that there were details Deegan didn't want to tell him, and Curt didn't want to hear. He just waved his hand in a go-on gesture, draining the coffee in one swallow to give him strength.

"Another boy went missing yesterday, and the guys on the case've got nothing. Nothing, except the knowledge that in a couple of days it'll be too late for anything."

What he didn't say was that while the detectives in charge of the case had nothing, Deegan had something. He had Curt. The same way he'd had him since he'd responded to a call and found Curt lying a pool of his own blood, the knife that had killed him still buried in his chest. But Deegan had managed to resuscitate him, against all sane odds. 

And it had been Deegan who'd been there when Curt woke up in the hospital and realized that he hadn't come back quite the same. Curt still avoided hospitals like the plague, the memory of running down the halls, trying to avoid the dead that lined them, clutching at him, even while trying to avoid the nurses who thought he'd gone insane, still too vivid even years later. 

Curt never had got a straight answer from Deegan about why he'd immediately believed in what Curt had seen, nor how he'd convinced the Chief of what Curt could do either, but then Deegan always had been a bit of a cipher. 

It wasn't like it really mattered, anyway. Curt saw the dead whether anyone believed him or not, and if Deegan's believing meant that Curt had a job he had never asked for, and was damn inconvenient at times, well, it wasn't like Curt had had much of a life left even before he'd died. 

And if it meant that one little boy got to live when he might not have… Curt grabbed his jacket and his sunglasses, already dreading what the sun was going to do to his hangover. "Come on, then. We've got ghosts to talk to."

~*~

2\. Curt had known he'd dream. Long days with little rest, a literal deadline hanging over their heads, over a little boy's, and they'd begun to think that the other boys' ghosts were tied to the site of their deaths. If they'd been able to find that, they wouldn't have needed Curt in the first place, and optimism had been hard to come by, knowing that time was against them, and that death wasn't the only horror the boy was facing. 

Curt had known he'd dream, but the only little boy in his dreams was himself. A hand on his neck, pushing him down. A whisper in his ear, all the worse for its familiarity. He choked, unable to take it all in, but the hand, the whisper, the breach of trust, didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. 

It was an old dream, a shadow from childhood, one he hadn't had in years. It was simple, almost comforting in an odd way, only fear and pain and betrayal haunting him that night. He hadn't had that one since the hospital, where he'd started to dream in music and words. The growl of a bass line, the howl of his id, powered by electricity that had been another violation of trust, something else shoved into his body that he didn't want. Shame and pain, fear and hormones, had fused together in the current; the healthy reactions of a teenage boy mixed up with a nightmare, until it was hard to tell them apart, and he'd become used to waking up hard, screaming in fear.

In his own inimitably perverse way, the sane reaction to what he'd experienced -- then and now -- left him feeling unsettled, and he wasn't in any mood for the Asshole when he banged on his door, leaving a dent in the cheap wood from the weight of his ham hand. Curt scowled at him as he let them in, and shot him the finger over his shoulder as he went to the kitchen to get some much-needed coffee, knowing he was safe from retribution considering that Deegan was right behind him.

Kingston was always something of a powder-keg; had flirted for years at the edge of getting kicked off the Force for being too violent, and, considering he was working out of Bushwick, this was saying something. But working with Deegan and what they did, that quiet umbrella of protection their Chief gave them, had saved him from that fate. Some might have thought he'd be grateful to Curt for being part of his salvation, but the Asshole didn't do gratitude, apparently, and he was more likely to view Curt as a handy outlet for anger he might be feeling. He rarely acted physically on it, smart enough to know not to kill the golden ghost as it were, but his normal hassling escalated from time to time, especially when he hadn't had a chance to bust anyone's head for a while, and there was Curt's, perfectly whole. After last time, though, when a ghost Curt had been helping wound up breaking Deegan's arm over something the Asshole had done, Deegan would be all over his partner at the first sign of trouble.

Curt gave a cup of coffee to Deegan, but made Kingston ask for it, smiling at him just to be irritating, but the smile died when Deegan started talking. "That whack-job from yesterday, Lyons, is already trying to claim insanity. Three dead kids, and the last one he took still in the hospital, probably in therapy for the rest of his life, and the fucker's trying to get a stay in a nice comfy hospital rather than face what he knows happens to child molesters in jail."

Curt was under no illusions about how comfy the hospital stay was likely to be, but just the thought of some doctor deciding one day that the freak was 'cured' made him sick. He sighed, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it one way or another. His part was with the dead, and, fair or not, Lyons wasn't. "This is New York, Deegan. Didn't you know, everyone here's insane, and nothing's anyone's fault."

Kingston laughed at that, for once in synch with Curt. 

Deegan gave a weary _what can you do?_ shrug, huffing out something that was part laugh, part yawn as he fought the exhaustion that was hanging over all of them. "On the good news front, though, Harris, Slade's killer, is kibosh. They found the knife, which isn't really conclusive, but seems he also liked to keep souvenirs. There were a bunch there that they're trying to track now, but one thing they did find was one of those big ass earrings she was wearing when he did her. At least Harris is keeping his big mouth shut instead of crying insanity. Not that the silence'll do him any good, anyway, since there were like twenty souvenirs in his collection. Fucking serial and no one had even caught it. Probably spread it out over the boroughs. Whatever, it should be good enough to get him for life. Who knows, maybe they'll actually make use of the death penalty again."

Kingston laughed at that, too, but Curt just shook his head. There were more than enough ghosts. He didn't need to look for any more. Mandy was gone, and as long as Harris was locked away, Curt was okay with it.

Mostly Curt just wanted to go back to bed. To dream his regular nightmares, with his normal psychoses, and to pretend, at least for a while, that the last ten years hadn't happened. But Asshole didn't have enough initiative to leave on his own, and Deegan seemed to be in a chatty mood, looking at Curt's guitar like he wanted to ask about it again. 

Curt couldn't bring himself to explain why he didn't play anymore, couldn't talk about it, even if it might help if he could. Not that it mattered, considering that Deegan wouldn't really understand, and he had no one else to talk to. Brian was gone, something that still hurt like hell, even to this day, and Curt had been too obsessed after his disappearance to keep the friends he'd had. And since Curt had died, and his life had taken a sharp turn into the Twilight Zone, there really hadn't been much of a chance to make new friends. With the weird hours he kept, and the odd places he tended to wind up, not to mention that bad habit of talking to people only he could see, there wasn't much likelihood that he'd find new ones, anyway. 

The loss of the music that had saved him when he'd first got out of the hospital had been one of the hardest things to take about his new life. He tried at first, tried to play through it, even when he'd been a little afraid of what came out of the guitar, out of him. He could hardly bring himself to touch it anymore, though, the guitar like an overpriced tsotchke stuck in the corner, dust covering it like a blanket. But if Curt's music used to come from his id, now it was more like it came welling up out of Hell. 

His agent had liked it, had been sure Curt was the forerunner to a new school of rock, but Curt hadn't been able to deal with it. He'd always thought an artist should make beautiful things with nothing of himself in them, but there'd been no beauty in the music -- stark and haunting -- and far too much of himself. 

At various points in his life he'd sold his body for money and drugs, and his thoughts for money and fame, holding himself open and exposed to grasping hands and grasping minds, but playing now felt like being gutted, and that was why he couldn't talk about it to Deegan. He liked him well enough. Found it comforting to know there was someone out there that wouldn't look at him like he was crazy if he wound up talking to something they couldn't see. And Deegan was curious, intelligent, entertaining. He'd buy Curt drinks at the bar on the corner, sit back in their booth, body slouched, legs crossed, talking about anything or nothing. Sometimes he'd even follow him back to his apartment -- no words needed, no promises made, just a quick fuck to let them both remember they were alive. 

It was never anything personal, though, never anything more than casual. Deegan always sliding away from questions about why he'd so readily believed in what Curt was seeing, hiding his own ghosts behind trash talk over why the Yankees were far superior to the Tigers, or how BTO was a heavily underappreciated band. And so Curt shied away from talking about the guitar, hiding his ghosts behind even more. 

But for some reason Deegan was pushing today, picking up the guitar and dusting it off, shooting sideways glances at Curt as if testing the water while he told Kingston about the band he'd been in back in high school. 

His dream of going back to sleep was fading, though, as Deegan picked out off-key tunes, and no amount of subtle hinting -- and not so subtle hinting -- was getting them to leave, so Curt decided to make a last ditch effort to get back to his beloved bed. Choosing the Asshole as the most effective target, he started flirting, dropping innuendo like bricks, and commenting on how strong he was while fingering his bicep. He almost laughed as Kingston's face got redder and redder, but he held it back as he brought out his end game, the joint fat and thick, if a little old, from the stash he kept around for the really bad nights. 

Kingston went off like expected, and Curt had to backpedal fast to keep his face intact, but that's where the plan fell apart. Instead of Deegan dragging his partner off and leaving Curt in peace, he just laughed and slapped Kingston on the back of the head lightly. "Don't even try it, Ben. I know all about that guy over at Ray's who gives you the special 'oregano'." 

Which was how Curt wound up smoking a couple of joints with two of New York's finest. And Curt had to admit that while it wasn't as good as getting more sleep would have been, it wasn't that bad either. Especially when Kingston's pouting had given way to giggling, which just set Curt off, too. 6 foot of high school football star cum tough as nails cop -- with a crooked nose from multiple breaks, and scars on his knuckles from enjoying his job too much -- giggling like a little girl was worth the price of the grass, and Curt was more relaxed than he could remember being in weeks. Maybe years.

He was so mellow it didn't even startle him when the phone rang, even though the only person who normally called him was sitting on the couch across from him, looking at his own hands like he'd never noticed them before. That sight made Curt answer the phone with a snort instead of his normal, "What do you want?"

There was a pause on the other side, then a cautious, "Hello?" As if the speaker weren't quite sure if someone were there. Or not quite sure they were sane, anyway.

That just made Curt laugh harder, but he stifled it, facetiously asking, "May I inquire who is calling?" in his best butler imitation.

"I'm trying to reach Curt Wild. I'm a journalist from the _Herald_." 

The answer was in a light British accent, broader, less refined, than Brian's had been, but it still touched a sore place in Curt's heart. For a moment he couldn't hear anything but Brian's voice, that first time, almost stuttering at being so close to his idol. _I think your music is tops -- smashing, really -- best of the lot._ But then it was replaced by the other voice, the one that still existed. "Yes, hello, this is Arthur Stuart from the _Herald_. I've been trying to reach Curt Wild for a story I'm doing. I was told I might be able to reach him at this number. Hello? Hello?"

All of the chemically induced amusement and ease drained out of him, because Curt knew what story it had to be. The same one they'd hounded him about for months after it first happened. And while Curt never went out of his way to be nice to reporters, he didn't often try to be rude, but this time he didn't even try to hide the anger. "Listen, man. I don't know who the hell gave you this number, but Curt Wild is not available and not interested in granting you or anyone else an interview. You get it?"

He could hear the reporter trying to apologize even as he slammed the phone down, but he didn't care. The magic the grass had worked was gone, and he looked over at his companions, both of them looking out of place on his ratty furniture, still wearing their suits and ties, still dazed and happy and high, but he didn't care about that, either. He just wanted them gone. 

Because with all the ghosts he'd ever seen, the one he'd wanted to see most was the one he'd never been able to find. He'd lived with it for years, learned to deal with the ghost of a ghost, but the phone call had bought it all back, the guilt and pain, and he hustled the two detectives out of his apartment, ignoring Deegan's concerned, "What's the matter?", just needing to be alone. 

He threw himself down on his bed, not even bothering to get under the covers, feeling like the weight of the world was pushing him down into the mattress, dragging at his eyelids. Even as old grief followed him down into sleep, Curt knew he'd dream. And he knew for sure this time which one it would be.

~*~

3\. Arthur looked in the mirror he had hung up on his apartment wall, seeing the reflection of the Spartan apartment behind him, the spare lines of his own face. If he closed his eyes, he could see the same face as it once was, dusted with glitter, eyes deep and wide behind the kohl, offset by a halo of blue. But he didn't close his eyes.

The story was everything. Nothing mattered more than getting through to the truth. That was the credo that Arthur had lived by for years, taking it in place of his parent's half-hearted faith, that cast him out as a sinner, and his own devotion that had been lost to a man who'd never deserved it. Bright and beautiful, a fickle, inconstant moon. A false idol, brought down by a false bullet, then buried in mystery.

But if the story was everything, if nothing else mattered, why was Arthur staring in a mirror, half-afraid of what it reflected, his pulse racing just from hearing that voice again? If all he cared about was doing a fluff piece on the ten year anniversary of Brian Slade's disappearance, then why was he just sitting there, waiting for the telex to respond to his inquiry while he stared down old memories, rather than chasing down a lead that would be more willing to talk than Curt Wild?

Arthur shook his head, trying to throw off the useless introspection, but his thoughts kept spiraling back to the phone call. Regardless of what he'd said, Arthur knew the voice had been Curt's. He remembered it clearly, time and distance having done nothing to fade the memory even when his own parents' voices had become only vaguely familiar in the same span. 

How sad was it that that one night -- Curt's hand in his, leading him slowly up the stairs to the rooftop of the concert hall, leading him up to the culmination of the fantasies that Arthur had lived on for so long -- was the single most manifest moment of Arthur's life? Especially considering it ended right there on those stairs, the rooftop, the fantasies, dying away at Mandy's frantic call to Curt. _"Brian's missing!"_ was all it took to kill them.

It was almost beyond coincidence that Lou had assigned this story to Arthur now, considering he'd been there when it started. When the blood that Mandy had found backstage and the torn hat that she'd claimed Brian had been wearing that evening were enough to get the police out. There'd been endless questions for everyone there, even for a terribly unfamous boy whose hair aped the terribly infamous missing person, but Arthur had been almost eager to stay, still hoping against reason that he'd see Curt again. Still wishing for the magic to be recreated even against a lifetime's experience of how fleeting magic was.

The police had been torn between disbelief, so soon after the faked assassination, and their inherent suspicion of any group of people like those who'd been at the concert, but in the end they'd found nothing. Whether it was because they hadn't really investigated hard enough, or because there'd been nothing left to find, no one could really say, but it didn't stop the speculation. 

In fact the rumors abounded, growing more improbable by the day. Mandy had killed Brian in a jealous fit over Curt. Curt had killed Brian in a jealous fit over Mandy. They'd both killed Brian because he was an asshole. Brian had killed himself and the others had hidden it. Brian wasn't dead at all, but rather hiding out with Jim Morrison. Or, and this was Arthur's personal favorite, Brian had been kidnapped by aliens, forced to mate with Bigfoot, and was now living in the American wilderness with his husband and children.

No one really paid much attention to any of them, too many people sure that Brian was just pulling another stunt, and that any day he'd show back up with some stupid story -- kidnapped by aliens, mother to two healthy, hairy kids! -- and that would be that. 

Mandy, Jerry, and Brian's former band milked the mystery for a while, but eventually even they moved on, fading into obscurity along with the legend they'd been attached to. In the end it had been only Curt who'd remained, Vladimir waiting for his God. Curt, who'd almost stopped performing altogether, only playing enough to fund his next fruitless search. 

And so it had gone until one night about five years ago, when there'd been some kind of confrontation between Curt and Brian's former assistant Shannon Hazelbourne, and both of them had wound up dead. Though Curt, thankfully, had gotten better. The police had ruled Hazelbourne's death as self-defense on Curt's part, but he'd disappeared entirely from the public eye after that, going to ground in the same city that Arthur had, but nothing like the same space, their orbits' touching, at most, as passing strangers on the subway.

It hadn't stopped Arthur from looking, though, from time to time, trying to find that familiar face in the crowd, to hear that voice one more time. 

But the story was everything, was what he'd made his life after the DOG concert and that second day the music had died. Because with the fall and rise and fall again of Maxwell Demon, Glitter hadn't just died; it had become tarnished and worn, like fake gold over a cheap brass ring, and the entire world seemed to tarnish with it, the color going out on the same social tide that made conformity the new In thing, and had once again cast Arthur -- and the others like him -- out as sinners.

Arthur had taken the twice-learned lesson to heart, though. He'd settled down, reinventing himself in a new land where no one knew what he'd been. And the same man who'd once loved Brian Slade -- _before_ , said that little voice in Arthur's head that refused to lie for him, _he'd found that Brian had so much of Curt's heart that, even hurt and angry, he'd gone running, dropping Arthur's hand without a backwards glance, when he'd thought Brian was in trouble_ \-- forgot him the same way everyone else had done. 

He'd learned all his lessons well, and had done well as a consequence. He had a nice apartment, money in the bank, and a job he was good at. And if it meant that his life was as spare as his apartment, it was a choice he'd been willing to make. He could have lived a life that was haunted by what could have been -- if his father hadn't caught him, if Mandy had just waited a little bit longer to call, if he'd followed his heart instead of his sense -- but he'd learned to forget all that as well as he'd forgotten Brian. 

Except. 

Except here he was chasing after Brian's shadow, again, just as he had years ago. And while it was only coincidence that Lou had assigned him the story -- _only coincidence_ , he assured himself -- he couldn't help that niggle of doubt that wondered if maybe there wasn't a touch of fate in it. A touch of that magic that he'd almost held one fateful night. 

And maybe it would turn out to be Pandora's box, opening regrets he'd buried deep back up to the light, so that he wouldn't be able to forget them anymore. But there'd been a time in his life when everything had seemed possible, when the road less followed had been more attractive than the safe path. He hadn't pursued it, chasing after stories of other people's paths instead. Was even now chasing after the truth of what had really happened to Brian Slade all those years ago. But the truth that he always hunted for, the one that little voice in his head wouldn't hide from him, was that while he might be interested in what had became of Brian Slade for the story's sake, he was definitely interested in what had happened to Curt Wild for more personal reasons. 

He looked in the mirror again, letting himself see what he might have been, and wondered whether that magic that had slipped out of his hands ten years ago might not be in reach again if he just tried for it. 

Curt was certainly a story worth pursuing, as much an enigma as Brian, and, happy coincidence again, the one story he wanted to investigate just happened to dovetail with the one he was already on. Hearing his telex starting to sputter and spit out the information it had retrieved, Arthur smiled to himself, and felt a tiny nudge of hope that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. 

~*~

4\. It had been a long day. A long, confusing day. Arthur looked around as he entered the bar, taking in the way everyone seemed to be looking at him, everything still and quiet in a strange between-song kind of silence, and thought that it wasn't likely to improve anytime soon.

The stares made him self-conscious, and he almost retreated, but his story was here somewhere, and he was nothing if not persistent. Even after Lou had _reassigned_ him -- and he might as well have put Tommy Stone's connections to the current administration up in neon with the way that played -- he'd still followed through, going to the concert that had only ended an hour before.

But his follow through hadn't been quite so much of through as it had been of weird. Not that Tommy Stone, with his mannequin face and his shellacked hair, hadn't been weird enough, and this was considering that Arthur knew, _knew_ , damn it, that Stone had once been Maxwell Demon, so that was saying something. But what had happened after the concert had gone beyond that.

He'd been queued up with the rest of the reporters, waiting to drop his bombshell question, when he'd felt… well, he still wasn't sure what he'd felt. It had been cold, and alien, like a ghost had passed through him. If Arthur believed in any ghosts but the ones people carried with them, that is. And maybe that was it. Maybe the issues that Arthur still had with Brian Slade, and with what the timing of Slade's disappearance had cost him, had consumed him for the moment. Or maybe, he thought, a little ruefully, he was just going crazy. All these years alone…

He shook the thought off. It wasn't the time for regret right now. He still had work to do. And he'd already lost his chance at Stone, due to whatever it was that had caused the fugue state that had left Arthur still and dumb while the reporters around him shouted their inane questions. While they got their inane answers, Arthur's tacit ones being lost in the rush as Stone had been swept off in his limo, leaving the other reporters scattering to write their stories, and Arthur standing there like an idiot. And while he was willing to buck Lou's directive a little, there was only so much leeway his editor was likely to give him. Chasing Tommy Stone back to his hotel would have been over that point, Arthur was sure. 

Which left him with the lead he'd tried to follow that afternoon; Curt Wild. But then that had turned out to be confusing, too. 

After the teletype had spit out its incriminating facts, Arthur had started thinking, and he'd decided, he'd _reasoned_ \-- and it was reason, he assured himself, and nothing like jealousy -- that the brush off that Curt had given him over the phone must have been because Curt knew what had happened to Brian Slade after all.

It might have seemed like a stretch at first, but it had all fell into place. Curt had searched for years for Brian, long after the others had all given up, but then one day he'd just seemed to stop. And right around that same time, he'd gotten into some kind of fight with Shannon Hazelbourne that had led to her death. And after that, Curt had seemed to disappear from the public eye altogether, no longer performing at all. No longer doing anything that had any obvious sign of income attached to it. And while Arthur still loved The Rats' music, even he couldn't believe that Curt was making enough money off of royalties that he didn't need to work at all.

Somewhere along his search Curt must have found what he was looking for. But instead of telling anyone about it, he'd taken back up with Slade, or Stone, or whatever he wanted to call himself. Not in the open, of course, because that would have spelled the death knell to Stone's new career as Conservative Right Rocker, but it had still wound up with Tommy Stone paying for Curt's silence. And maybe other things, Arthur _reasoned_ , still no jealousy involved he assured himself.

Hazelbourne might have either threatened to expose Stone, or maybe she'd just wanted a piece of the action. Whatever had happened, it had led to her death. Self-defense, of course, the police had determined that, and Arthur didn't believe, even with the rest of it, that Curt would have killed her to shut her up. But still, it had been convenient for Stone all the same.

And that had been Arthur's theory, one he was sure was right. Right up until he saw Curt's place. He'd lived in the city for years, but there were still neighborhoods he didn’t know that well. So it hadn't really meant much to him when he'd heard the name Bushwick, not until the only cab that would take him there was a gypsy. Not until he'd arrived, and seen the trash piled up on the street, some of it staring back at him with wary, sullen eyes. Graffiti and decay all around, and Arthur felt his conspiracy theory, at least the part with Curt as a participant, starting to decay with it. 

The only response he'd gotten to his knock, though, was a shouted imprecation from one of Curt's neighbors to shut the fuck up already, and advice from one of the kids on the stoop -- all hand-me-downs and sly, quick fingers reaching for the bill that Arthur had offered -- about which bar to try if he wanted to see Curt that night. Arthur had left Bushwick twenty dollars poorer, and none the wiser, confusion dogging his steps all the way.

And now he was here, the jukebox finally starting back up again, people still staring at him like he was an alien. The song was one of Tommy Stone's, and Arthur could have laughed at the injustice of it, but his eye was caught by the figure sitting at the back of the bar, long fingers picking at the label on his sweating beer bottle. 

For the sake of his objectivity, Arthur could have wished the years had been unkind to Curt, but they hadn't, their touch only showing in the faint creases at the edges of his eyes, and the hard-won knowledge visible in them. All his excuses about seeking Curt out because of the story were washed away in the rush of desire that went through him. Years later, all that experience gained, and Arthur was still a desperate groupie, wanting nothing more than to touch the idol that he worshiped. 

He stood there a moment, letting it wash through him, wondering why this man, even as attractive as he'd been, as he still was, had such an affect on him. He'd seen many beautiful people in his life, had even fascinated on some of them from time to time -- Brian always coming to mind -- but none of them had ever touched Arthur like this. None of them had stayed with him long past the point where a crush should have faded.

Arthur thought about just leaving. Taking his confusion and his lingering fantasies with him. But that wouldn't get him any closer to the answers he was looking for. 

Any closer to Curt. 

And even with the conspiracy theories that still lurked in the back of his head, Arthur wanted to get closer to Curt. Wanted to touch the flame and see if it burned. Pandora's box, a small voice in his head whispered at him, but it was buried in the clamor of other voices demanding that he stop hiding. Reminding him that he was tired of it. Tired of being alone.

Even with the bulwark of voices backing him up, Arthur still approached Curt warily. He remembered what Curt had been like on stage; fearless, and as wild as his name. He also remembered the phone call he'd already tried, and how that had ended. The man was largely an enigma, and there was no way to guess how he'd jump now. 

Arthur wanted to think that the timid way he said, "Hi," was because of that, but he knew it had more to do with his own hesitant nature, and being a tiny bit starstruck besides.

Curt just frowned at him, offering nothing in return.

Arthur had come too far to be turned away by a frown, though, and he presented, "You're Curt Wild, right?" as his next gambit.

Still frowning, and as sullen as his neighbors had been, Curt answered, "Yeah? Who the hell are you?"

 _I'm the guy you almost slept with after the DOG concert_ , a lot of the voices in his head shouted, but he ignored them, deciding to opt for something a little more sane. "I'm a journalist? With the _Herald_?"

They should have been statements, but Arthur was brimming with questions at the moment, and couldn't seem to stop asking them, even with things he already knew. Curt just stared back at him, taking a swig of beer, so Arthur continued, "It's just funny because… well, I was just trying to contact you actually. For a story I was doing about an old friend of yours? Brian Slade?"

Arthur wasn't quite sure what he'd expected Curt to do when he heard Brian Slade's name. He was mostly sure that his theory of Curt being in the pay of Tommy Stone was wrong, unless he was spending the money in some unobvious way. The worn leather jacket Curt was wearing and his healthy face spoke of neither an expensive wardrobe or an expensive habit. But even if Curt didn't know that Slade was alive and well -- if somewhat disgusting -- that didn't mean that Slade wouldn't be a painful subject for him. So Arthur was prepared for any number of things to happen next: an angry demand to fuck off, more silence, Curt storming off in a huff.

What he hadn't been prepared for was for Curt to hunch over, his beer bottle crashing to the floor as his hands went to his right shoulder. He also hadn't been prepared for Curt to let out a strangled moan, and shout at him, "You fucking bitch!"

It really had been a long, confusing day. And as Curt let out another vehement, "Fuck!", Arthur could only think again that it wasn't likely to improve any time soon.

~*~

5\. Of all the conclusions and scenarios that Arthur had drawn about why Curt continued to search for Brian long after everyone else had stopped, of all the reasons that he had supposed that Curt had finally given up that search, the one he'd never even entertained had been that Curt was as crazy as everybody had always said he was.

Watching Curt clutching his shoulder as if someone had just stabbed him, glaring daggers at the empty air to Arthur's left, Arthur couldn't help but entertain the possibility now. 

As if aware of what Arthur was thinking, Curt looked directly at him again, still holding his shoulder, but giving a weak grin as he said, "Sorry about that. Um, just an old injury that plays up from time to time."

"You call your injury a bitch?"

Curt's grin got broader, honestly amused now, but he still kept flicking wary glances over at the still empty air beside Arthur. "Yeah, good name for it."

Arthur shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe Curt was crazy, or maybe he had just been having the same type of day as Arthur. Whatever, Arthur still had some questions he'd like to have answered. "I see. Still, about what I'd been trying to contact you about? Brian Slade? I was trying to find out… what actually happened to him."

"Look-" Curt started, but cut it off with a stifled grimace, grabbing his hand tight, and holding it to his chest.

It was hard to tell for sure with the way he was holding it, but it actually looked like Curt's hand was reddened, like it had been burned. And now Arthur was the one who was freaking out, because he knew the hand had been fine just moments ago, and there was still nothing in the air that Curt was cautiously keeping his face to. He remembered what had happened at the concert, and had the fleeting thought that maybe ghosts were real before he managed to get himself under control. Determined not to get sidetracked, Arthur said, "Brian Slade, and what happened to him. I mean, before he became such a mystery."

"Look, man, I don't know who you've been talking to or- fucking hell, what are you after now, you bitch?" 

Curt stood up, backing away from nothing, and Arthur found himself backing away with him. He'd been watching when the bright red splotch had appeared on Curt's other hand, like some kind of weird stigmata. Arthur got lost in that train of thought for a moment -- the thought of Curt _Wild_ as a religious figure darkly amusing -- before he registered that Curt had stopped, his shoulders slumping in obvious relief. _Whatever_ had been happening, it was apparently over.

By that point Arthur had a thousand questions he wanted to ask on top of the ones he'd walked in with, but all he managed to get out was, "What?"

Surprised, like he'd forgotten Arthur was there, Curt parroted back, "What what?"

What what indeed, Arthur thought. Where did he start, with the past or the present? With what had just happened, or what had happened to Brian? Showing just how incredibly quick he was at thinking on his feet, or rather not, Arthur again asked, "What?", grimacing on the inside at how brain dead he must seem.

Still rubbing at the marks on his hands, Curt's lips quirked on the edge of laughing at Arthur before he took pity on him and said, "Hey, that just happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about. And as for Brian…" he trailed off, looking at empty air again, but Arthur could tell he was seeing memories there. "Listen… a real artist creates beautiful things and… puts nothing of his own life into them. Okay?"

Still curious about the thing that 'just happens sometimes', Arthur had to draw his attention firmly back to the subject he himself had started. Brian seemed less important at the moment, but it was why he'd come, and maybe he could get a real answer sometime tonight. "Is that what you did?"

Curt shook his head ruefully. "No. No. I set out to change the world and ended up… changed myself. More than I'd thought possible."

It was just the segue Arthur had wanted. An opening that he could use to find out what was going on. To discover how much Curt had changed from Arthur's memories of him, and if there was any hope of the craziness of the evening settling enough to see if Curt might remember him even a little. But before he could use it, Curt cursed again, looking over Arthur's shoulder. 

Arthur had been so caught up in the oddness of the what had been going on that he jumped a little when it turned out someone was actually there. Two someones, both of them staring at Curt intently, and so obviously cops they might as well have been wearing signs on their foreheads. Arthur briefly flashed on the thought that maybe he'd been wrong and Curt did have a habit, but the dynamic between the three men wasn't that of cops after a suspect, but rather familiarity laced with concern. 

The smaller of the two men flicked a glance at Arthur before telling Curt, "We have a… job we need you to help on. A lot of accidents happening in this one neighborhood, reports of, um, strange stuff happening. Thought it might be one of your… friends."

Curt also glanced at Arthur before replying, "Does it have to be tonight?"

The second cop, who looked like his picture should be in the dictionary under 'bruiser', gave Arthur a glance, too -- which was starting to give him a complex -- before he shrugged. "You can always fuck later, Wild, we have more important things to do."

The first cop and Curt both looked embarrassed, and Arthur's cheeks went a little red themselves, but the sly look Curt shot him, slightly appraising, gave Arthur a little hope that things might be going his way. So he was feeling fairly well-disposed towards bruiser until he finished with, "So put the twink back into his alley and lets go."

Arthur figured the appointment that Curt agreed to was given more out of embarrassment than out of a desire to talk to him again, but then again, Curt didn't really seem the type to care about awkward social situations, so maybe not. Either way, Arthur was pleased to get it.

Not that it stopped him from following the three of them when they left the bar. It was rude, of course; they obviously hadn't wanted him along, and it wasn't like Arthur had any real reason to tail them except out of curiosity, but then he was a reporter. He did a good job of appearing well-mannered, but if even the hint of a story was involved, Arthur tended to forget many of the lessons his mother had taught him. Especially the rather ironic one about respecting other people's privacy.

Their business, whatever it might be, was located in a particularly rundown part of Yonkers. The area had a lot of closed businesses and boarded up windows, giving it the aspect of a ghost town, and Arthur could almost feel the presence of those who'd tried to make a living here, but ultimately failed. 

Arthur couldn't get too close, not without the cops spotting him, but with how little traffic the neighborhood had, how few people were around, it was quiet enough that he could pick up pieces of their conversation. Enough to know the smaller cop's name was Deegan, and that Curt thought the other one was an asshole, and that the asshole thought that Curt should shut up and talk to his imaginary friends. Arthur was a little floored at that. That these two men were aware that Curt wasn't necessarily all there, and yet were using him in some kind of investigation seemed a little much, even for cops.

When the men went down an alley, Arthur had no choice but to move a little closer, wanting to keep them in sight. When Curt shouted, "Fuck it, can't you leave me alone?" he'd thought he'd been spotted, but Curt wasn't looking at Arthur, but at yet another patch of empty air a couple of yards from the dumpster he was crouched behind. 

Deegan wasn't fazed by that in the least by Curt's behavior, simply asking, "Is it the bitch again?"

Curt nodded, giving wide berth to the empty patch of air as if he expected it to attack. "Yeah. She fucking burned the hell out of my shoulder earlier, right in the bar. Go haunt someone else, Shannon, I have other ghosts to talk to tonight."

Arthur couldn't help the small gasp he made when he heard Shannon's name, but thankfully the others didn't hear him over Curt's voice. Neither of the cops seemed to think there was anything odd about what Curt said, both of them looking around as if they expected to see something, too, and Arthur wondered if they were simply playing along with Curt's… Curt's what? His imagination, insanity, guilty conscience? Arthur couldn't even begin to guess, and the need to know still kept him rooted in the alley, watching to see what might happen next.

Which was Curt talking to empty air again, but not to Shannon. It sounded like he was speaking to a child, a little girl, calling her darling and sweetie, and telling her there was no need to be frightened.

The asshole said, "Ask her if she knows where her body's at."

Deegan shook his head. "Jesus, Kingston, give him a chance. The kid might not even know what happened to her, for fuck's sake."

Curt waved them both to silence, asking the air, "Do you know what happened to you?"

Apparently the little girl who wasn't there did know, Curt relaying the information as he got it. It was the kind of story that Arthur had heard far too often. A father who'd left his family, a mother struggling to get by, letting the wrong type of man in. Only this mother, instead of being horrified by what the creep had done to her daughter, had been jealous. 

Curt said, "Hey, sweetie, can you go play for a moment while I talk to my friends, here? I promise we won't go anywhere." He waited a minute, then turned to the others, disgust clear on his face. "It wasn't fucking bad enough that creep put his hands on her, but then she gets killed by her mother because of it." He rubbed a hand over his face, looking desperately tired. "I sometimes wish people didn't have kids at all with all the shit they do to them."

Arthur sometimes wished that, too, and -- if the stories were even somewhat true -- he hadn't even had Curt's reasons for it. It just made him so angry the way kids like this were abused. That thought made him stop and shake his head, amazed at how involved he was getting in this whole fantasy. 

Deegan was buying it, though, looking just as disgusted. "Yeah, I hear you. Does she know where her body's at? We might be able to get enough evidence off of it to link it back to the mother. If not… well, maybe we'll make sure she doesn't have to worry about having another kid again."

Curt pointed to one of the abandoned buildings. "In there. A closet in the basement. She just locked the kid in and left. No one heard her."

The asshole sighed. "I almost hope we don't find the evidence. This is one I wouldn't mind doing."

Deegan gave him a look, but didn't call him on it. He turned back to Curt. "Can you get her to go on, now? She's probably what's been causing the accidents around here. Maybe trying to get someone's attention still, and not knowing they can't see her. Or that even though they don't know why, she's still freaking some people out when she gets too close."

Curt wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a little even though it wasn't that cold. "Yeah, I'll talk to her. She deserves better than this fucking alley anyway."

Arthur didn't hear what Curt said to the little girl, backing away to find another hiding place while Deegan called in some uniforms to help search the buildings. He found a good vantage point on top of one of the deserted buildings across the street, and told himself the cops wouldn't find anything. He told himself that Curt was crazy. That Deegan and the asshole were bad cops, the type that he should be investigating before they managed to kill someone, if they hadn't already. He told himself that he was just wasting time sitting up on that roof, staring down in the alley at Curt, still hugging himself as they all waited.

He told himself he was shocked when they brought the body bag out of the building Curt had pointed to, but he didn't believe it. Didn't believe the other lies he'd been telling himself. Not anymore. 

He'd never believed in ghosts. Never believed in what he couldn't see. But even though he couldn't see the body in that black vinyl bag, he knew it was a little girl. 

Arthur had been trying to logically dismiss the weird things that had happened to him all day. The cold that had frozen him after the concert, the burns he'd seen appear on Curt's hands, the body Curt shouldn't have been able to know was there. He'd tried to tell himself that the two cops were just humoring Curt when they'd acted like he was talking to a ghost. But there was only so logic could take him with something like this, and Arthur was past the point of trying to pass the whole thing off as a fluke.

This was real. Ghosts existed. They could freak some people out. They could cause accidents. And apparently they could talk to Curt. And hurt him. 

From up on his rooftop, he watched Curt and remembered what he'd said about being changed more than he could imagine. Arthur would have to say that was an understatement. His own perceptions were shifting violently around him, making him rethink so many things he'd thought he'd known. 

It was sort of funny in a weird way -- and how appropriate that word was tonight -- but it really was just his luck that he'd come across one of the biggest stories of his life, and there was no way he'd ever get it published. Not unless he wanted to write for _The Weekly World News_ , anyway. He probably couldn't even get the story about Brian published, not with the way Lou had reacted. He laughed to himself, mordantly amused at being surrounded by such big news and being the only one who cared. 

Or not the only one, he thought, still watching Curt, who had turned his head away as the body bag was carried by, staring off into more empty air. Or at least Arthur hoped it was empty. He hoped there were no more ghosts haunting Curt tonight. 

Because Arthur might never publish the stories he'd discovered that night, but he still had a potential audience in the common point between them. And a potential something else, too. Because while he'd never believed in ghosts, he'd believed in Curt. From the first moment he'd seen him, delineated in black ink that was smearing on the paper below it, but seeming too large a figure to fit in that tiny frame. Okay, he'd also thought he was maybe crazy, and potentially in league with Slade, but even those momentary wavers hadn't stopped him from following along, still caught in Curt's wake even after all these years.

Hell, even finding out that Curt apparently saw dead people that no one else could see didn't really throw Arthur off. He laughed again, and thought, _It must really be love_. Either that or Arthur was the one who was crazy. Sitting by himself on the rooftop of an abandoned building when he should be sleeping, watching a crime scene he wasn't even going to report on, Arthur smiled down on the oblivious object of his affection, and decided it was probably both.

~*~

6\. Curt wasn't quite sure why he'd made the appointment. It might have had a little to do with being embarrassed by what the Asshole had said. But then Curt wasn't usually all that prone to embarrassment. No, if he really thought about it, it probably had something to do with the way the guy seemed familiar somehow, as if he'd seen him before. Maybe even more than seen. 

He couldn't be sure, of course. The drugs had left holes in his memory that he could never fill. And even after he'd gotten clean, after he'd met Brian, everything had happened so fast, had jumbled together until the only clear memories tended to be the ones he didn't want to have. 

But whatever the reason, he'd made the appointment, and had hung around to keep it. Had even gone so far as to answer the door when the reporter knocked. Even as he opened the door, he mocked himself for the depths he would stoop to on the off-chance of getting to spend some _quality_ time with someone other than Deegan or his right hand. 

"Hey," was his opening salvo, demonstrating a skill with words that was amazing even for him. It was a wonder he'd ever gotten laid at all with his social graces.

"Hello," Stuart replied, making Curt smile. A mutual sucking at small talk was as good a start as any.

Curt did have to wonder at two grown men, both of them having made their living by words at some point, who apparently couldn’t string two words together in a row. His smile grew wider at the thought that maybe Stuart was thinking about what the Asshole had said the same way Curt was. Or maybe he was remembering what Curt couldn't, that sense of familiarity that sparked at the back of his mind, making him willing to risk the hassle it usually was to get involved, even momentarily, with anyone besides Deegan.

It had been a long time since Curt had even tried. Years, really. Even before he'd gotten his little gift, he'd become a little gun-shy, a side benefit of how things had ended with Brian. After Shannon, and her nasty habit of showing up at the worst moments, it had become even more problematic. Not to mention that Batman and Dickhead weren't exactly known for their concern over his love life, either, and had told one of his wannabe bar hookups that they were there to arrest Curt for knowingly spreading venereal diseases. It made things easier if he just stuck with the tried and true. 

But he had to admit he was thinking about not taking the easy path now. It wasn't just that Stuart was attractive, or that Curt was lonely, because there were lots of good-looking men, and, yeah, he was pretty much always lonely. It was that nagging sense of not just having maybe seen him before, but actually _knowing_ him in some way, a connection that had been there for years, but that he'd never noticed until now. There'd been a time that Curt would have laughed until it hurt at the thought of being fated to meet someone, of being connected to them by anything other than the dick in his mouth, or one in his ass. Of course there'd been a time that Curt couldn't see ghosts, either, so he was willing to see how this played out.

With that in mind, he played semi-gracious host, offering a seat on the couch and a choice of coffee or tea. He didn't add _or me_ in there, deciding it was probably best if he kept the odd sense of humor as a surprise just in case things didn't pan out. 

Sitting on the couch beside _Arthur, call me Arthur_ , Curt settled in for a long haul. He'd have to field some stupid questions about Brian for a while, probably some even more stupid ones about himself, but it just might be worth it. And if it got to be too much, he could always kick Arthur out. It wasn't like there was much worse about him that could be printed at this point. 

"How long have you been able to see ghosts?" Arthur asked, proving that while Curt might have taken up residence in the Twilight Zone, he'd never had the knack of predicting the future. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." He tried to say it firmly, but surprise and not a little fear made his voice too tremulous. He didn't even need Arthur's, "I saw what happened in the alley the last night, with you and the two cops. I know how they found that body. I know that they're going to… investigate the mother based on what you heard. I know… I know you see ghosts."

Curt wanted to argue further, but he came up dry. It didn't matter how much he told himself it wasn't that bad, that it wasn't like anyone sane was going to believe Arthur if he printed the story. It wasn't even the ones that weren't sane that worried him. His life was already weird enough without having people calling him asking if he could speak to their late husband/wife/kid/pet, but he could deal with it if it happened. What he, Deegan, and Kingston did, though, wouldn't bear too much scrutiny, and there was only so far the Chief could protect them. 

As much as Curt hated some parts of his life now, he loved that part of it. Maybe he wasn't changing the world with what he did, but it was enough. Enough when he could save some other kids from the fate of the dead only he could see. Enough when he could help someone like Mandy finally move past what had happened to them. Enough when the hookers, and the runaways, and all the other forgotten dead, that no one had really cared about even when they'd been alive, at least got some kind of justice. He couldn't let Arthur take that away.

But then Curt really didn't know how to stop him, either. Not without doing something outrageously drastic, and that was something he wouldn't ever do again. He'd killed one person in his life, and that by accident, but it had changed him in far more ways than his ability to see ghosts. He wouldn't do it again, not even to help the others.

It wouldn't hurt to start with just asking first, anyway. "Don't tell anyone. Please." 

Arthur looked surprised. "Well, it's not like anyone would believe me if I tried. At least nobody I'd want to, really."

That drew an involuntary giggle from Curt. He could just imagine Arthur trying to convince someone from the _Herald_ that ghosts were real, and that Curt Wild could talk to them. But Arthur being reasonable about it threw Curt, because he wasn't used to a hell of a lot of that from reporters.

Curt must have been showing his fear, though, because Arthur put a hand up, the universal _no threat here_ gesture, and he shook head. "Look, I'm not trying to cause you any trouble. I wouldn't do that to-" He cut himself off, shaking his head again at whatever he'd been about to say. "It's just so amazing, what you can do, and I was curious, that's all."

Strange, weird, frightening. Those were all words Curt had used to describe his little gift. But amazing was a new one on him. It was a nice thought. As was the idea that here was someone outside of the guys he worked with that he could talk to. Here was someone who'd understand, and not think he was crazy if he wound up talking to 'himself.' All the friends that Curt had let slip over the years, all the ones he hadn't made since, and here was a potential one who had pretty much just invited himself in.

There had never been a time when Curt had been comfortable talking about himself, but tonight he thought he just might make an exception. Curt stood up, giving a jerk of his head to invite Arthur along. "If I'm going to satisfy that curiosity of yours, I'm going to need a drink. Let's go."

He took him down to his bar, the one he'd first talked to Arthur in. It was quiet most nights, the patrons more interested in getting drunk than in socializing. Curt grabbed them both beers and led them to his usual booth. If he was going to do this, be completely honest in a way he rarely if ever was, then he'd take all the crutches he could get, including alcohol and what he thought of as home turf. 

"I'm taking it you know about my history with Brian Slade?"

Arthur shrugged. "I know that you were involved with him. And that you'd broken up, you going to Berlin, and Brian still in London when he pulled the stunt that cost him his career."

A tactful way to describe their history, and Curt clinked Arthur's beer bottle in appreciation of his skill. "I was angry, as you can guess. Not just at Brian though, but at myself. It hurt when I heard he was dead, you see, and it shouldn’t have. I thought I'd learned… well, if there's one thing life had taught me it was that it was foolish to love anyone, but to love a man who was more in love with himself than he'd ever been with anyone else, well that was just plain stupid."

Curt thought that Arthur might try to interrupt. Reporters were always so eager to hear about his childhood, half believing the rumors they spread, but Arthur just nodded for him to go on. A good listener, Curt thought, adding it to the plus column. "Right before the DOG concert, Brian wanted to talk. Said that something was wrong, and that he was scared. I thought… well, I though it was just another trick, the same way most people did. I wouldn't listen. And then he was gone."

Arthur did start to say something then, face gone wistful, but he wound up taking another pull on his beer instead, waving Curt to go on.

"When weeks had passed, then months, and there wasn't any trace, I just… I just had to keep looking. Call it guilt, call it love, I just couldn't walk away without knowing if it was my fault. If I'd just listened to him, would it have made a difference?"

Arthur frowned, as if puzzled. "Then you really don't know what happened to him?"

Curt sighed. "No, all those years wasted, and I never did find out a thing. I kept almost giving up. I mean I had no money, my career was pretty much over, and it was by my doing. I kept telling myself that I should just let it go, but… I kept getting these phone calls. At first they were really short, just a second or two of silence, then whoever it was would hang up. But then they got longer, and I could hear someone one the other end sometimes, like they were about to say something, but then they just wouldn't, and click again. I don't know, I guess I kept hoping that maybe it was someone who knew something, but was afraid to tell me.

So when Shannon called, just out of the blue, I kind of thought it was maybe her that had been doing it. She tried to be all sly at first, calling herself Ms. Woof. She was working for some stupid plastic act, Timmy Stone or something like that, couldn't even really be called music, but she was still full of herself. Said she had some deal she wanted to talk to me about."

Arthur was biting his lip, as if holding a laugh back, but he didn't add anything.

Curt shrugged it off, caught up in the telling the story now. "Maybe I should have expected it. A nighttime meeting on a rooftop probably should have been some kind of clue, but I literally didn't see it coming. One second she was saying my name, next thing I know I have a knife in my chest. It was just reflex that made me hit her, and it was only luck that made her stumble before she could do anything else. Her foot caught on the edge of the roof, and down she went. Not that I saw that, as I was kind of dying at the time, but Deegan -- one of the cops you saw last night -- he and his then-partner were passing by when Shannon fell. 

They called for backup and an ambulance, but Deegan didn't wait, coming on up to the roof to find his perp, only to find me instead. I was already dead, but Deegan managed to breathe enough for me that the ambulance guys could get my heart beating again."

Curt laughed a little darkly at that. "They weren't sure how much brain damage I'd have, but no one expected what I did come away with. I freaked out, but thankfully Deegan didn't. He kept the hospital from putting me in the ward, got me home"

He took a deep swig of his beer, needing the barrier to his memories. He'd spent far too much of his life in a hospital over something that hadn't been his fault. He sure as hell hadn't been looking forward to more. Even without considering anything else Deegan had ever done for him, that was something he'd always like the guy for.

Arthur's hands flexed towards him, like he wanted to touch but was afraid to. Curt wished he'd just do it, but it wasn't like he could ask for a snuggle. He settled for playing with the pin Brian had given him, a tic that tended to calm his nerves a little. 

"After that I started doing what you saw last night. It doesn't pay well, but I get by." Curt had always been careful not to question too closely where the money came from, but it was actually enough to do more than get by. Not that he was going to tell Arthur that. Nice guy or not, knowing how crazy the story seemed or not, Arthur was still a reporter and there was only so far Curt was going to trust him.

But Arthur turned a bashful grin at him, apparently hearing the evasion Curt had made. It was cute to a ridiculous degree, far past the man's attractiveness, making something inside Curt twinge in a way he hadn't felt in years. He'd been foolish then, trusting Brian, and he told himself it would be just as foolish now. But that sense of _knowing_ Arthur was still there, still calling to him, and he'd never exactly been known for wisdom.

The grin and the ridiculous cuteness were already taking their toll, because when Arthur commented on the pin, Curt wound up offering it to him. It was the last connection Curt had to Brian, a talisman he'd kept for years, but it felt right to slip it in Arthur's beer when he wasn't looking, like he was completing a chain of events that was meant to be. He told himself it was time he moved on, anyway, but it didn't feel like a goodbye. It felt like an invitation.

And when Arthur caught up to him, not even a block away from the bar, the pin on his jacket, that felt right, too. 

Curt kissed him for the first time in an alley smelling of semen, excrement and decay. The three fundamentals of life. You were born, shit happened, and then you died. The trick was to enjoy the shit that happened to you.

He certainly enjoyed the kiss. Arthur was a lot more aggressive in sex than he'd expected, and a lot less shy about public displays than he'd have guessed. But he just pressed Curt further back into the shadows, further into the alley wall, his teeth working over Curt's throat, veering towards pain, both of them too turned on to care. 

Curt let his head fall to the side, offering up his neck like submission, but his own hands were anything but. They pulled at Arthur's belt, his pants, freeing him, and, God, it had been so long since he'd done this, since he'd felt like this, out of control with need.

He got his own pants down, moaning at the feel of their dicks pressing together, unable to help the whimper when Arthur's long, thin fingers started to hollow him out. He struggled to get his pants off, but settled for just the one leg, hooking it over Arthur's hip, gritting his teeth against the burn as something much thicker than Arthur's fingers pushed inside. 

But even the burn was fantastic, the feeling of being held open to Arthur, of having all that strength and weight press against him, move inside. He wanted to make it last, but he couldn't, clenching tight around Arthur as he came hard.

Arthur looked like he was in pain through Curt's orgasm, his face twisted as he held still inside him, but as soon as Curt relaxed, almost boneless, Arthur started to thrust again.

Curt was edging too close to forty to come again that quickly, but he didn't need it, his body thrumming with the friction of the wall at his back, of Arthur's body against his dick, of Arthur's dick in his ass, like waves of pleasure cresting until Arthur finally came. 

They were both tired when it was over, holding each other up, and Curt was thinking about inviting Arthur back to his place to sleep. It was a sanctuary he'd never even offered to Deegan, the only other person he'd ever actually taken home, but it was what he wanted now. 

Before he could make the offer, though, he saw her. Shannon staring at them from the mouth of the alley, looking even angrier than she normally did. 

She'd interrupted him during sex before, seeming to take delight in taking away whatever pleasure Curt managed to get out of the life she'd tried to steal. She'd never bothered to tell him why she'd killed him, or why she continued to haunt him, a secret she kept as close the hate she held for him. 

He never had many defenses against her at the best of times, but like this, still half naked and shaking from sex, he was far more vulnerable than he wanted to be. He shoved Arthur out of the way, knowing that it wouldn't look good pushing him away right after sex, but needing to at least get his pants back up before he had to face her. It wouldn't make a difference, but at least he wouldn't feel so helpless. But by the time he'd gotten them on, she was gone, nowhere in sight. 

Curt waited, trying to keep an eye everywhere just in case she came back, but the only thing around was Arthur. 

Who instead of yelling at him for the shove, asked, "Is it close? Or friendly?" He gave a nervous laugh at that, ducking his head in embarrassment. "Listen to me, next I'll be asking you if its name is Casper."

Curt had enjoyed talking to Arthur, had more than enjoyed the sex, but it was that, the blithe acceptance that Curt hadn't just pushed him away for no reason, that there was something there that Arthur couldn't see, that made Curt smile and offer Arthur his hand. "It's gone. Let's go home."

It seemed too good to be true, but he'd found someone who didn't think he was crazy. Who actually seemed to understand. And not because he'd maybe seen someone like Curt before, as he thought Deegan might have, or even because Curt could help him do his job. It was just simple acceptance. Like the pin that Arthur wore on his jacket, and the hand that was soft in Curt's own. 

Leading them home, Curt forgot about Shannon. She was a problem for another day. He had more important things to think about now. 

~*~

7\. Curt had forgotten what it was like to sleep next to someone. The warmth of the body, like an extra blanket against the cold that never really seemed to leave anymore. The way the combined weight created a little sinkhole, making it easier to roll together than lie apart, like sleeping on a firm, quilted matchmaker. Curt petted the mattress, already one of his favorite things in the world, for the extra help while he waited for Arthur to come back to bed.

He'd forgotten that there was a downside to sharing a bed also, Curt being too light a sleeper not to wake when Arthur did, the ebb and swell of the bed drawing him from sleep, but it was a small price to pay for the rest, and Curt was already drifting back to sleep even as he hazily wondered what was taking Arthur so long. 

The dream was a half-waking one, starting out with his amazement over how well Arthur was taking the whole ghost thing, and devolving into a Twilight Zone mishmash of images and thoughts. _Come closer, don't be frightened_ , and it was his voice, on the rooftop of the Rainbow Theatre, but it wasn't Brian, a changeling instead, and a UFO, _Are you high?_ , and he thought he might be, the changeling calling his name, _make a wish_ , _make a wish_. 

Curt heard his name again, but it wasn't the changeling. It was Arthur, standing over him, startling Curt out of the dream, his heart beating faster than it should. He almost laughed, almost told Arthur he'd scared him, but he didn't have a chance to before Arthur bought the hilt of the knife down against his head.

It didn't hurt at first, everything gone hazy again, another dream. Curt could feel when his hands were lifted above his head, feel the thread of cloth around them, soft, but firm -- silk, he thought, a tie, drifting on pointless details -- and he wanted to tell Arthur that he didn't play this way, but it was too much effort, the pain in his head slowly growing, until it took all his effort not to scream with it.

Using every ounce of will he had, Curt managed to get his eyes open, to look at Arthur, to see the whacko he'd managed to so misjudge, but it wasn't Arthur kneeling over him, face lit with malicious glee. Or rather it was Arthur, but with someone else holding the reins. "Shannon."

She giggled, and it was odd coming from Arthur's throat, odd in the situation, but then she'd always been a crazy bitch, at least where Curt was concerned. "Curt. Did you miss me?"

Shannon had done this before, wearing someone else's body like a suit, but never with this much control, and never this long. The best she'd managed was five minutes on a subway platform, where only Deegan's quick reflexes had kept Curt from landing on the rails. Deegan had warned him she might get better at it, hinting at knowledge he wasn't sharing, but Shannon had stopped after that, two years stopped, and Curt had forgotten.

And maybe his thoughts were playing on his face, because she giggled again, answering the tacit question. "I've been practicing. I wanted it to be special when I finally finished what I started. Too late for me, but at least he'll never have you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Arthur's hands ran over his chest, nothing of gentleness in them, unconcerned when Curt tried to squirm away. But it was Shannon's words -- spoken in a flat, almost sing-song way, like she was reciting something by rote, and too bored to do it right -- that truly scared him. "I'm talking about _him_ , and why I started all of this. He pissed his career away listening to stupid people, but I gave it all back to him. Showed him exactly what to do and when to do it. I made him a freaking icon, and does he appreciate it? No, he keeps calling you. He was going to tell you everything. What is it about you, Curt, that people are willing to do stupid things for you? Is it your pretty face? Is it your body?"

She grabbed his dick, the grip reminiscent of the one Arthur had used just hours before, but the touch was clinical, detached. "Is it this? Or maybe this?" she asked as the other hand slide further down, finger breaching him before he'd even registered what she was doing.

He bucked away, trying to get her off of him, out of him, but she just laughed, her grip on Arthur's body as firm as his was on Curt's. The tie was digging hard into Curt's wrists, his struggle only making the knot tighter, another pain to join the pounding in his head, the sting in his ass. "Shannon…" he trailed off, knowing she wasn't likely to give him mercy, no matter what he said.

She was looking at him now, Arthur's eyes fierce beneath that dark brow, adding a level of menace her own face could never have held. But the madness in the eyes was all hers, recognizable in whatever form she wore. "Maybe I won't kill you after all. Maybe it would be better to leave you alive, to live with what I do to you. I've never been on this side of things before, after all, I should see what it's like to fuck instead of be fucked. And what do you think you little friend Deegan will do when he comes knocking at your door to find someone fucking your brains out?"

He knew it wasn't just said to scare him. She'd do it, hurt him any way she could, though Curt still didn't understand why. _Him_ could only be Brian, the crush she'd had on him noticeable to everyone, but Brian was dead. If she could find him, she could have him all to herself now, so why she was still so determined to fuck Curt over, or even to fuck him at all, he didn't know. But then he guessed that crazy didn't really need a reason. 

Then something else she'd said made it past the rest. "Deegan? Why would Deegan come knocking at my door? What did you do?"

Shannon laughed again, stabbing another finger into him as if to accentuate her point. "I called him, of course. Or rather I had this body do it. He told him you were hurt. That I had hurt you. I'd planned to let him find you, already dead, your blood all over your lover's hands. He'd know who had done it, they'd both know, but they'd always have to live with being unable to stop it. I thought it would pay the bastard back for all the times he interfered with my… work."

She added another finger, and Curt couldn’t bite back his cry at that, which only made her dig in harder, deeper, her eyes soaking up every sign of his pain. "How much worse for him, though, to wind up killing someone to save you, and then finding out he was just possessed. How much worse for you to live with the knowledge of what I did to your little fuck buddy, of what I did to you. What I'll do to you again if you ever so much as look at anyone, forget touch them. You were going to take him away from me. You did take my life from me. So I'll take this from you."

He tried to fight when she pushed his legs up, but he had no leverage, no way to keep her from pinning his body, holding it in place. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Arthur's face as she did this. 

But she didn't, holding still over him instead. Her voice was low at first, the words almost inaudible, but she was so close he could almost feel the words rather than hear them. "Why did he have to do it? I'd given him everything he wanted. The fame and glory he'd thrown away with that stupid publicity stunt. It was my idea to do it again. My idea to make Brian Slade disappear, only to come back again in another form." 

She laughed, tears choking it, Arthur's body pressing Curt further down with the movement, making it hard for him to breathe, his surprise making it impossible to answer. "A phoenix from the ashes, disaster transmuted to success. _My_ success. And instead of rewarding me, he was going to tell you. Kept saying you still loved him, and that he still loved you." 

Shannon pulled back, sorrow dissolving into anger again as Curt struggled to draw air into starved lungs. "It wasn't love, it was just obsession. And he was going to throw everything we'd worked for away for it. But I solved that problem, too." 

He tried to say something, probably something horribly inane, like "Brian's alive?" or "Are you crazy?", but he knew the answer to both. She was crazy, but Brian was alive. Those stupid phone calls, where no one would answer. Hadn't he always known there was something about them? Wasn't that why he'd kept looking, long after reason said to stop? Hadn't he always known there was a reason he'd never really tried to search for Brian's ghost? 

He almost was stupid enough to ask her where Brian was, but he was saved from her reaction to that by her slapping him, almost casually, with hardly enough force to bruise. Then again, and again, Curt's face growing hot with the friction, the pain in his head swelling out until he could feel unconsciousness approaching like a train. He almost welcomed it, knowing this was just foreplay for the main event, but even knowing he didn't have much chance, Curt couldn't stand the thought of not at least trying to fight.

She stopped, admiring her handiwork, pushing one of Arthur's fingers into his split lip, smearing the blood over it like lipstick. "Would he find you pretty now? If you had a camera, I could take pictures and let him see. Let him see what you look like with other men. Maybe he wouldn't want you then."

But Shannon didn't move away, tears in her eyes, Arthur's eyes, again. "But he won't care, will he? He heard all the stories about you and he still wanted you. I even made some up, and it didn't matter. Whatever I do to you, he'll still want you. It's not fair."

It was that last part that finally broke the hold on Curt's tongue, anger goading him past reason. "It's not fair? Are you five years old or something? 'Cause that's when most people figure that out, you stupid fuck. You keep talking about how you helped Brian and he betrayed you by not loving you, but since when is love something that's created by a business transaction. I've been there before, Shannon, and if there's money driving it, it's not love. And you call what we had obsession, but you need to fucking take a look in the mirror if you want to see obsession."

He bucked up again, trying to knock her off, trying to break her hold on him, or Arthur, or anything, because she'd already killed him once, and now she was going to rape him and kill Arthur, and, hell, maybe kill them both, and all over the fact that Brian didn't love her the way she wanted him to. Fuck it all to fucking hell, but he had enough issues in his life that he'd actually caused without having some freak try to mess him up over something that most people just drank too much and listened to too much bad music to get over.

Curt had spent too much of his life being a victim, fate seeming to have it in for him from the start, and he would have liked it if he could have saved himself, if it had been some action of his that pulled Arthur off him, out cold from the too-enthusiastic choke hold that Kingston had him in. But he was too damn happy to be free, feeling finally returning to his hands, Deegan assuring him that Arthur was fine as he pressed an ice pack to Curt's face, clucking over him like a frazzled mother when he tried to pull away from the sting of antiseptic. 

He wasn't so happy, though, that he couldn't ask, "You snuck in instead of breaking the door down, and it's not that I don't appreciate it, but how the fuck did you know?"

Deegan paused in his ministrations, looking at the bloody cotton ball in his hands rather than Curt. "I didn't know. I just… it was just odd, Stuart calling me, even if Shannon had been hurting you. And it wasn't like I was going to come alone, even if it were true. And then the door was closed when we got here, no sounds coming from behind it, and I just… felt that something was wrong."

Curt took the cotton ball from Deegan, dipping his head until he caught the other man's eyes, not letting him look away. "You knew. You knew she could do something like this. You'd warned me before, but you never said how you knew. You've never said how come you believed me right away when I said I was seeing ghosts."

With the eye contact, it was harder for Deegan to avoid him, harder for him to lie as blithely as he usually did, but it didn't stop him from trying. "I'm just a nut that way."

He sighed, curbing the impulse to punch Deegan. He was still too grateful for the save. Though if this kept up, Curt might have to rethink it. "Deegan… don't, man. I'm sore and I'm tired and I'm sick of the whole fucking thing. And most of the time I like you, but when you get all silent on me, it pisses me off. Can't you just tell me, for once? You know the worst about me. Fuck, you just saw me in a position I could have really done without anyone seeing, and all because of stupid secrets, and… My whole life has been filled with secrets, and I'm just… tired."

Deegan sat back, crossing his arms like he was cold. Or like he was protecting himself from the memories that were playing behind his eyes as he looked over at Arthur, lying on the bed where Kingston had laid him out. "It's not the choke hold that has him out, you know. He's just tired. It drains you, having someone else in you like that."

He turned back to Curt, face as stark and haunted as Curt had ever seen it. "The good news is she won't be able to do it to him again. None of them will. Once you know what it feels like… well, you can stop it. I'll tell him how. Mind you, you'll still have to be careful, because she can always do it to someone else."

Curt closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair, too tired to even fully take in the fact that his life had just become even more fucked up than it had been. "It's happened to you before."

"Yeah. With Lindsey. Franklin's… the Chief's daughter. My fiancé."

And that explained why the Chief had always backed them. Also explained why someone as good looking as Deegan was so alone. "She died."

Deegan shook his head. "No. Well, yes, but not then." He stopped, scrubbing frustrated hands across his face. "Fuck, I'm messing this up. It's nothing I've ever had to tell before. Franklin already knew, and no one else needed to. But you're right, I should have told you, at least. Lindsey… she'd been mugged, of all things. City girl like her, cop's daughter, you'd have thought she'd know the right things to do, but she panicked. The guy was a junkie, wired as hell, so he shot her to get away. And she died, but then the paramedics brought her back after a couple of minutes. But after that, everything was different."

Curt nodded. He knew how that was. "She could see the ghosts, too."

"Yeah, though I didn't believe _her_ at first. Her father didn't know what to do with her, and wanted to put her in a hospital, but I couldn't stand the thought of it. I kept thinking she'd snap out of it, given time. But then she started… well, she talked to one of my victims, one of the dead ones, told me things about the crime scene she couldn't have known. I wound up catching the perp before he could do someone else, and after that… well, I was a believer."

"What went wrong?" Curt asked, because he knew something had.

"Even her father believed her after she started letting the ghosts… in. One of them was his sister, who'd died in their house when Lindsey had just been a baby. Franklin had always wondered if she'd killed herself, but it turned out it was just an accident. But when Laurie, the sister, was in Lindsey, she convinced him that it was her. Told him things she would never have told Lindsey, not in a million years, and that she'd just been hanging around for him, wanting him to be happy. And talking to her, having that… ghost laid to rest, it did make him happy. Took away a fear he'd held for years, let him think Lindsey's mother might be okay, too, wherever she was.

Linds, she was ecstatic, being able to help her father like that. Like she'd helped me with the case. Since the mugging, she'd been struggling with depression, but that seemed to help her out of it, that doing something with what had happened to her. And so I was happy, too. At first, anyway. But I hated it when she'd be someone else. It was like she'd died again. And she kept doing it more and more, saying she liked giving them a chance to live again, just for a moment. 

It took me a while to figure out that what had helped with the depression wasn't doing something, but rather not having to be herself for a while."

Curt shivered at that. There'd been times in his life he would have done anything if he could just not have been _him_ for a while. If this stupid talent had happened to him at that time… he could understand all too well. "She didn't stop."

Deegan's smile was more a grimace, teeth showing like fangs. "No, she didn't stop. I asked her. I begged her. And at first she listened a bit, but by then she was too far gone to stop, and the ghosts… they were closer to her than I was by that time. One of them, John, this kid who'd been killed by his pimp, he was the worst. He'd never lived anywhere near as nice as our house. Hell, he'd barely been 14 when he died, and all he'd really ever known was people fucking him over. You can see how he'd take what she was offering like a prize. And the more they did it, the stronger he got. 

I told her she had to stop. Told her I'd leave if she didn't. And she cried, but I was scared, so I just kept telling her she had to, or I'd go. That was when… I didn't know what it was at first, and everything was muted, like I was dreaming something rather than doing it. And it should have felt good, the sex, because it had been so long since we'd done more than kiss, but it wasn't me." 

He shuddered to a stop, hands going tighter around himself, face bleak. "It wasn't me. And I was shouting in my head, but she couldn’t hear me. John did, though, and he was mad as hell, knowing I'd ruin everything for him if I could. So he… he took me down to a leather club, hooked me up with some handlebar mustache. Thought he was compromising me in some way. Which was funny, if only he'd known."

Curt laughed at that. "I didn't think mustaches were your thing, though."

Deegan laughed, real amusement, the pain of the memories muted enough by time that he could roll with it now. "Yeah, well, leather ain't my thing, either, but the guy wasn't bad, really. Wasn't into pain or anything, and, yeah, it was freaky getting a hookup I didn't ask for, but I'd had worse happen. Hell, touching Lindsey and having it not really be me was worse. But then John decided that the next logical step was if he couldn't shame me into backing off, he needed to get rid of me. 

He might have done it, too, but Lindsey came looking for us. The kid had used a real hack, not a gypsy, and she used my badge number to get a trace. Took her a while to get to us, but she eventually found us up on the roof of the club. He was going to jump, homicide in suicide form, but she… she promised him she'd let him back in, that she wouldn't stop if he'd just leave me alone. I tried to tell her no, but even after he left me, even after I was _me_ again, I could barely stay awake, forget say anything. All I could do is watch as she said goodbye."

"She left? I though you said…" Curt tailed off, trying to think of a tactful way to say died, but there really wasn't one.

Not that Deegan needed it, anyway. He just nodded his head. "She did. Linds said she couldn't risk it happening again, couldn't risk me like that. John knew what she meant before I did, of course, he was in her even though she was in control at that point. He wasn't the only one who'd gotten better at it. He tried to jump back in me, but even as weak as I was, I knew what it felt like then, and I just, I don't know, pushed him back out again. He went back to her, tried to take over, and it could have almost been funny, watching them argue with each other in that one body, but… I couldn’t do anything. I could only watch as she stepped on the ledge and…"

Curt's hands still hurt, and his head and face were their own misery, eclipsing even the sting in his ass, but he ignored all of it to lean over and take the other man in his arms, holding him tight. "I'm sorry, man. Sorry."

Deegan didn't answer, falling back into the silence, but he didn't need to, his arms tight around Curt, holding onto what he still had rather than what he'd already lost. 

Kingston, in his own inimitable way, killed the moment. "Hey, you two. Stop fucking around unless you want Curt's boy toy to catch you. He's coming to." 

Curt again ignored the pain in his body, going over to Arthur, calming the panic that started as soon as Arthur woke. He pulled Arthur in close, like he'd held Deegan, even as Deegan slapped Kingston on the head, leading him out of the apartment with a slammed door, his way of letting Curt know that he and Arthur were alone. 

Arthur was holding on just as tightly as Deegan had, mumbling apologies against Curt's shoulder, exhaustion trying to claim him even now. But Curt just whispered, "Shush. Nothing to be sorry for. Wasn't you, "as Arthur fell back into sleep.

Curt would have to repeat it, he knew. Would probably have to say it again and again, knowing instinctively that Arthur was the guilt-ridden type. But Curt would win eventually, because it was true; there was nothing to be sorry for, not on Arthur's part. Now Shannon… well, her he'd find some way of getting rid of eventually. 

In the meantime, he had what he wanted. Even if Shannon had gone through with what she'd threatened, Curt wouldn't have let Arthur go. There had been few enough people in his life who'd accepted Curt for what he was, foibles, ghosts, and all, he wasn't about to lose this one. Not when Arthur fit so well in his bed, body relaxing in sleep against his, that sinkhole pulling them together again. Not when he inspired dreams of rooftops that had nothing to do with death, but only starry skies and starry eyes, and finding something he hadn't known he'd lost.

~*~

8\. It didn't take long to find Brian, not this time, once he knew what he was looking for. Deegan was helpful, if back to his usual self, and Curt didn't fool himself that he had all of the man's secrets. Not yet, anyway. 

But at least there was one less in the world, he thought, as he knocked on Tommy Stone's door. His hands were sweating, and his heart was beating too fast, and he was having to remind himself to breathe when the door opened. 

Curt didn't know what he expected to happen, or even what he wanted to. He wasn't surprised by the man who opened the door, though. He knew what Brian looked like now. He'd seen posters of Tommy Stone even if he had mostly ignored them, so he'd known that Brian had changed his appearance. What he hadn't thought to imagine, though, was how much _he_ had changed.

Because whether he was called himself Tommy or Brian, it was still the same man. It was still the same magnetic charm, that used to pull at Curt like a magnet to iron. But it was all surface now, removed, as if it weren't real. If it weren't for memory -- and Curt was never too sure he could trust that -- he'd wonder if any of it ever had been real. 

But that was probably just anger talking. That was familiar, though, something he'd felt for Brian often, even in the good times, so he didn't pull away when Brian hugged him, leaning into it for a moment, letting memory have its place.

It was Brian who finally broke past the politely awkward hellos into what they both wanted to talk about. "I thought that reporter would tell you. I had the story… killed at the paper, but he was persistent. Some of my people told me he was talking to you, so I was sure I'd hear from you." He smiled, that rueful, disarming one. "Well, I hoped I'd hear from you, anyway."

"It wasn't him, actually." Curt didn't elaborate, not wanting to get sidetracked. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but all he could get out was, "Why?"

Brian sighed, steering Curt past the ornate richness of the room over to a sofa. It was probably worth a fortune, but Curt thought it was kind of garish, some kind of animal print, and very much Tommy Stone. He felt out of place just sitting on it, but he waited for Brian to explain. "Everything had gone to hell, Curt. I'd lost… Mandy, my career. You. I just wanted it all back. When Shannon came to me with her idea, I didn't want to do it at first. I didn't want to hurt anyone again. But… but you weren't talking to me by then, and Mandy and I were too damaged to ever get back to what we'd had, and Glitter was fading. I figured I could always tell you later, after all the fuss had died down."

He shook his head, apparently at himself. "You know how it is, though, with time getting away from you. It took so long to get everything back on track, and then a couple of years had gone by, and… well, you know. But I still missed you, Curt. So I decided to call, did call you, but every time I'd hear your voice, I could never figure out what to say."

Brian reached out, tracing a finger alone Curt's cheek before palming it. "But I didn't stop calling. I needed to hear your voice. I missed you, Curt." 

Curt couldn't help but turn into the touch for a moment. This was familiar, too, the making up after the fight. He'd waited years for this. But he'd wasted years for it, too, and that was still there. "I felt so guilty, Brian. You'd told me that you were afraid, that you wanted to see me, but I blew you off 'cause I was still so mad. And so I found myself someone to forget with for a night. But while I was doing that, you disappeared. And I kept thinking, if only…. and I couldn't stop looking. I cancelled the tour with Jack, which pretty much killed both our careers, but he seemed more sorry for me than mad. He kept telling me I needed to move on. Because I wouldn't stop looking for you, even after everyone else gave up, 'cause it was my fault for not listening to you, right? Only that turned out to be another lie. Funny, huh?" 

The look on Brian's face was regret, real and true, something Curt had never seen on Brian before. "I'm sorry. I never meant for that to happen." 

And Curt knew that. Brian had always had the ability to be a complete asshole, but he never meant to be one. And blaming Brian for ruining his life over something Curt had done would make Curt just like Shannon, something he never wanted to be. Whatever had happened, he was okay with his life now. He was more than okay with it, actually, even with all the chaos in it, and who could say that would have been true if Brian hadn't left. Curt waved his apology off, not needing it. "Yeah, I know. It's okay, really, just bad timing on my part is all. Story of my life."

Brian touched his face again, trying to bridge the years. "The timing could be right now. We could maybe make up to each other for time we've lost. There's never been anyone I loved as much as you."

Curt believed him. There'd been a time in his life when the same had been true of him. But even if the thing with Arthur didn't work out, Curt had changed, even more than Brian had. He couldn't go back to being who he was then, wouldn't want to, especially not with the way things would have to be with Tommy Stone. "I have enough secrets in my life. I don't need to be anyone else's." 

"Curt." Just his name, Brian having no argument for that, even if the look on his face said he wanted to.

Brian's love of fame had always been a third in their relationship, and time hadn't changed that. Not enough for a man that was willing to be Tommy Stone, plastic idol. Curt could almost laugh, him in his run down apartment, Tommy Stone in his ritzy high rise, and both of them unwilling to trade. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about you. I'll get Arthur to leave it alone, too." 

"That's not what I was worried about."

Curt did laugh then, knowing Brian too well, even with this new face. "Maybe not all of what you were worried about, but still a little." 

Brian looked rueful again, but he laughed with him. "Maybe a little."

Curt was the one that reached out this time, touching Brian's face, seeing the man he'd loved under the façade. "It wasn't just guilt that drove me to look for you. Be happy, Brian."

Brian said, "Curt," again, but it was farewell that time.

When Curt got back to his apartment, it was almost like another world. No animal prints, except for where the stray cat he fed from time to time had left paw prints on his windowsill. No fancy anything, really, except for a guitar that he'd let sit too long. But it was comfortable, and it was his, and it had Arthur sitting in it, waiting for him.

Waiting for him and looking worried. "I'd thought you knew, at first. I'd thought… I don't know, that he was paying you, or that you and he were still together, or something. And then it became kind of obvious that neither of those was true, but by then the whole ghost thing had come up and… I would have told you. I just wanted you to know that. I didn't mean to keep it as a secret."

It was said casually, but Curt could hear the fear underneath it. Afraid maybe that Curt was going back with Brian, or maybe yesterday was still spilling over into this, but whatever it was, Curt hated it. He'd had too much uncertainty in his own life, never wanted to cause it in someone else's. "Hey, it's okay. Closure achieved yesterday, closure achieved today, what does a day matter, right? It's okay, Arthur." 

Curt didn't know how to say what he wanted to, not yet. He'd never been good at words, really, using the songs to say things for him that would stick in his throat without the music. And maybe it was nothing Arthur wanted to hear just days after meeting him, anyway. So Curt let the words go and laughed instead, changing the subject onto something lighter with, "They have a really good pool table down at the bar."

Arthur hesitated, almost saying something before he gave it up. "I don't know how to play."

Curt held out his hand. "I'll teach you to play. Come on."

It was when Arthur took his hand, smiling shyly, following behind him, that it hit Curt, the memory that had been flitting at the corner of his mind finally coming closer. "We'd met before, hadn't we?

Arthur's smile was broad now, pleased instead of shy. "Yeah. Just for a moment. After the DOG concert."

Curt remembered, happy that fate was on his side for once, history repeating itself for the good. "The little changeling. We were heading for the rooftop, but Mandy came." And that was a less pleasant memory, but one that didn't have the same sting anymore. Not after today. So many ghosts being laid to rest. "We were interrupted then. Let me make it up to you now."

Arthur was hesitant at first, afraid it would be too much like the night before, but it was Curt directing his hands this time, running them over his chest, down his stomach, up and down his dick, affection and desire in the touch rather than anger and madness. Then Arthur lost all hesitancy, kissing Curt deeply, holding both of them in one large hand, thrusting up against him until they both cried out, lost to anything but that moment. And as much as Curt loved his mattress when he was sleeping, he loved it even more then, with Arthur curled around him, their legs tangled, all skin and touch and taste. 

They were both still breathing hard, sticky and smiling and just enjoying the moment, when Deegan knocked on the door, calling for Curt.

He didn't bother to get up, just shouted through the door. "Go away, Deegan. I'm busy."

Not that Curt expected that to work, and Deegan didn't prove him wrong, using the key that Curt had so made a mistake in giving him to open the apartment door, totally unfazed at the sight of the two of them on the bed, Arthur scrambling for cover. "Come on, Curt. Job doesn't hold still just because you're getting some." 

Throwing what cover he had over to Arthur, Curt muttered, "Jealous bitch," as he got out of the bed.

"I heard that," Deegan said, but he at least left them to get dressed alone, shouting at Kingston to make them some coffee.

Later, out in the hall, he stopped Curt, face more serious than it usually was. "Maybe I am a little jealous. You and I, we weren't ever… you reminded me too much of her. But it didn't mean I didn't… well, I'm happy for you, man."

Curt felt a twitch of regret at something that might have been. He hadn't known, through all those years when they'd both been so alone, and too desperately stupid to be open about it. But he couldn't really regret it, not with Arthur waiting for him back in his apartment, and Deegan smiling as Kingston actually said something funny for once, and Curt, feeling the benevolence that only really good sex could give, was happy with all his strange little family

It wouldn't last, of course. Kingston would say something stupid, and Deegan would get in one of his pissy, distant moods, and Arthur would have some quirk that would get on Curt's nerves, because they were all human and that was the way it went. But in the meantime, he had ghosts to talk to, and bad guys to catch, and maybe, if things went smoothly, he'd be back in time to take Arthur up on another rooftop, to complete what they'd started all those years ago. 

/story


End file.
